


Skeletons in the Cupboard

by Marian_De_Haan



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Humor, Intrigue, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, UK Politics AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-29 20:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marian_De_Haan/pseuds/Marian_De_Haan
Summary: Roj Blake is the long-standing Prime Minister and Kerr Avon is his Chancellor of the Exchequer. They occupy Downing Street 10 and 11 respectively, along with their families: Blake's wife Jenna and daughter Soolin; Avon's wife Cally, their adopted children Tarrant and Dayna and Avon's step-brother Vila Restal staying over after his latest divorce.As the two families are gathering to commemorate their late comrade Olag Gan, the Leader of the Opposition Travis is brewing sinister plans to undermine and destroy Blake.Old secrets and scandals are unearthed in the process. Will the Party unity survive and will the families bond together in light of those events?





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Published in October 2006 on the old Horizon website. Reproduced here on the author's behalf and with the author's permission.

About to ring the doorbell of Number 11, Jenna dropped her hand when she heard angry voices inside the flat.

"I don't see why I have to be dragged into the commemoration of a nonentity whose only claim to fame is that he managed to get himself assassinated!"

"We must honour our dead." Cally sounded exasperated.

"Honour? That's rich, with your husband persistently referring to him as 'that dimwit'!"

"I will not have you repeat your father's words, Del!"

"He's not my father. I'm adopted, remember! And my name's Tarrant - I'm not a child any more!"

"Then you should stop behaving like one." Cally's voice dropped.

Fascinated, Jenna put her ear to the door: Cally was always at her most dangerous when soft spoken.

"You will come to Gan's memorial dinner, Tarrant, on time and suitably dressed. And you will behave yourself, or I'll recommend to my husband that we stop paying your school fees."

"But... You can't mean that! I need those qualifications to get into the Air Force!"

The perfect threat, Jenna thought. To become a fighter pilot had been Tarrant's ambition from a very young age. Now in his final year at school, and confident of good exam results, he was on the brink of realising his dream.

"You had better keep that in mind." Cally's tone was uncompromising.

"But tonight's the match."  
  
Jenna smiled grimly; the mere fact that he was fighting a lost cause never stopped Del Tarrant arguing. She could visualise Cally struggling grimly to hang on to her patience.

"You can set the video and watch it later."

"That's not the same."

"It will have to do, Tarrant!"

"But it's not fair! Gan died twenty years ago - before I was born."

"My people have a saying: those who do not honour the dead are not fit to live."

The sanctimonious tone caused a surge of irritation in Jenna. A saying for every occasion! Cally always made it sound like her people came from another planet. But then, to be fair, the Irish were often treated as if they were from another planet.

"I hate your people," Tarrant shouted. "I hate you and I'm glad you're not my real mother!"

Jenna swiftly stepped back from the door as it flew open and Tarrant stormed out. He strode past her on his long legs and disappeared round the corner.

Jenna knocked on the still open door and stepped inside.

"Jenna." Cally looked flushed, red spots colouring her cheeks. Her loose dark curls framed her face and she was dressed in a plain red jumpsuit. She looked fey and elfin and definitely not of this world. "Come in."

Jenna stood aside to allow Cally to close the door, then followed her into the living room which was tastefully decorated in harmonious pastel colours.  
  
"You look great," Cally remarked, gesturing at a settee. "Blue suits you."  
  
Jenna knew it did. The cut of the long dress made the most of her figure while the twin starry brooches led the eye discreetly to her well-shaped breasts. She thought she had attained just the right level of sophistication. Appearance was important for the Prime Minister's wife. "I've come at an inconvenient time."  
  
"No, no. Make yourself comfortable. The men aren't due from the House for an hour at least, are they? I'll have plenty of time to change later. Tea, or something stronger?"  
  
"Something stronger, definitely, considering the dinner will be alcohol-free."  
  
Cally moved to the drinks cabinet. "Oh yes, Avon told me." She selected a bottle and began to fill two glasses. "I'd forgotten."  
  
"It's because Gan was teetotal. Blake thinks it will go down well with the public." Jenna wasn't so sure - it might make Blake look a prig, which was the last thing they needed in the run up to a General Election. But she'd known better than to argue with him. And she could rejoice in the prospect of Vila's dismay at having to make do with fruit juice and water for a whole evening.  
  
Cally handed Jenna her drink, then sank down into a chair. "Would you believe I'm almost beginning to look forward to the day Tarrant will be leaving home?"  
  
"I can imagine." Once, Jenna had envied Cally for having a son, albeit an adopted one, but that had soon passed. Tarrant had been a difficult child from the moment he'd set foot in the household as a two-year-old orphan. "I'd have expected Avon to have kicked him out long ago."

"CHANCELLOR'S SON MERCILESSLY DUMPED," Cally quoted an imaginary headline. "He wouldn't risk the bad publicity. No, Avon simply ignores him."

"Frankly, after Tarrant I'm surprised that he ever agreed to adopt another child."  
  
Cally smiled her enigmatic smile. "It did take some persuasion. I managed to convince him that girls were less difficult to raise than boys. And giving a home to a child from an ethnic minority goes down well with the voters."

Yes, that would have been the clincher! mused Jenna. "Well, at least he seems to get on with Dayna."  
  
"As well as one can expect from Avon. It helps that they share an interest in weapons."

"Weapons? That's something I'd never thought of Avon."  
  
"Oh, not the crude sort that just goes bang. They fancy the sophisticated, electronic stuff. Dayna's very good at inventing intricate gadgets. I think Avon's secretly proud of her."  
  
"Oh, he's never struck me as a man for family life."  
  
"He isn't." Cally shrugged. "Sometimes I think the only reason he married at all is that he judged staying single would hamper his political career. And that he chose me purely because I was available at the right moment."

In her darker moments Jenna had the same suspicion about Blake. But she would never say so out loud.  
  
"How's Soolin?" Cally asked.  
  
"Fine. She's looking forward to the dinner. We had a bit of a disagreement over her clothes, but that's been sorted out." Jenna wasn't going to be outshone by another female - not even by her own daughter.

"Is she still insisting on pursuing the Hunt against Blake's wishes?"  
  
"Yes." Jenna sipped her drink. "They're arguing about it daily. Blake says it will lose him the support of the anti-Hunt lobbyists. Soolin simply throws his own political manifesto back in his face."

"'Freedom of choice for all'," Cally quoted. She grimaced. "Children can be difficult at that age, can't they?"  
  
"Don't tell me! Is Dayna going to attend the dinner?"  
  
"Yes. Fifteen seems to be the right age. She's absolutely thrilled - her first formal dinner."  
  
"And Vila and his wife, that'll be nine, then," Jenna said.  
  
"Eight. Kerril isn't coming." Cally sighed. "The marriage is over - she's thrown him out."  
  
"What?" Jenna felt a mixture of exasperation and satisfaction. "I thought he'd found the right woman at last. She seemed the perfect wife for Vila."  
  
"I agree, but Kerril changed her mind about Vila being the perfect husband for her."  
  
Jenna finished her drink. "Any chance of a reconciliation?"  
  
"No. Kerril's become really fed up with him. She says she can put up with either his snoring or his whining, but not both."  
  
Jenna leaned forward to place her empty glass on the low, glass topped table.

"How's Vila taking it?"  
  
"With secret relief, I think." Cally put her glass down next to Jenna's. It was still half-full, Jenna noticed idly. "Vila's problem is that marriage only seems desirable when he's single. Once he's got a wife, the life of a bachelor begins to appeal once more. You know Vila, he isn't one to take the initiative. But now Kerril's made the decision for him, he seems quite happy to be rid of her."  
  
Typical Vila! "Well, after three times he must know the divorce procedure by heart. Does it mean you're stuck with him again?"

Before and between his marriages Vila had been lodging with the Avons.

Cally rose. "Yes." She took Jenna's glass and went to refill it. "At least he keeps the Press happy."  
  
True, Jenna thought. Vila was the darling of the Press - they seemed prepared to forgive him anything. She had never been able to figure out why. Maybe it was his background. Vila was the son of a man called Tel Restal. Only after Restal Senior's sudden death was it discovered that his real name was Tel Avon and that  
he'd walked out on his first wife and son to marry Vila's mother. Regrettably, he'd taken on a new identity without bothering to get a divorce, which made his second marriage void and Vila illegitimate.

Vila's mother, a highly emotional woman, had not been able to stand the scandal and thrown herself from Westminster Bridge. At 16, Vila had found himself alone in the world. He'd turned to his newfound half-brother as the only family he had left. Kerr Avon, nine years older and newly embarked on a banking career after having graduated from one of the lesser known universities, had taken his destitute bastard brother in and provided a home and keep for him ever since.

Accepting the drink, Jenna remarked: "I've never understood why Avon is prepared to put up with him."  
  
"Because he's useful."  
  
Startled, Jenna turned. Avon stood in the doorway, a mocking smile on his face. Jenna gritted her teeth. She should have been prepared for this. Avon always managed a silent approach.  
  
"Hello, Avon," she said, angry with herself because it sounded lame.  
  
"Jenna." He gave her a non-committal nod, then walked over to Cally and gave her a rather dutiful kiss on the cheek. Jenna was gratified to see that Cally didn't jump up to get him a drink. Apparently he didn't expect her to, but moved over to the drinks cabinet to fill a glass for himself.

The self-sufficiency of the born bachelor, Jenna thought, idly following his movements. Avon had aged well. His waistline had only slightly expanded and the bald patch in his greying fringed hair gave him the appearance of an austere monk. As usual he wore the high collared black sweater that had become his trademark - he never bothered with shirt or tie.

Jenna felt the familiar stab of resentment. Blake - now rotund, white haired and bearded - had recently been nicknamed Santa Claus by one of the tabloids. Jenna feared the name would stick. Blake had not minded, pointing out to her that it would bring in votes as Santa was popular with the public.  
  
Avon carried his drink over to a chair and sat down. "Vila is useful, Jenna, because of his popularity with the tabloids. Our worthy journalists seem to be under the impression that, because Vila lives here, he must know all the secrets that go on behind the doors of 10 and 11 Downing Street. So they ply him with  
alcohol and in return he gives them any amount of drivel, which they then dutifully print. It stops them from any serious search for other skeletons in the cupboard."  
  
Trust Avon to find a use for Vila! Jenna felt her anger rise. "You mean that he's responsible for the story about it being impossible for Soolin to be Blake's daughter because of her straight hair?"  
  
"I doubt it. Unlike certain journalists, Vila is aware of the existence of straightening irons." He produced the kind of smile that made her want to smash his face in. "Besides, the amount of alcohol needed to make Vila bold enough for that kind of statement would have left him too drunk for coherent speech."  
  
"I heard that!" Vila entered the room, dressed in a yellow silk shirt over a red high collared sweater. A preference for unusual clothes must run in the family, Jenna thought.  
  
"Hello, everybody." Vila went straight to the drinks cabinet. "I'd better fill up. A daft idea, to have a dinner without wine!"  
  
Jenna felt an irrational urge to defend Blake: "It's a nice gesture."  
  
"A fitting tribute," Avon added in that dry tone that made it impossible to determine whether he was serious.  
  
"Because Gan didn't drink?" Vila filled his glass to the brim. "Then, by the same token, we shouldn't have ice-cream for dessert because Gan didn't like ice-cream."  
  
"You're early, Avon," Cally said, in an apparent move to change the subject.  
  
"Yes," he replied. "In their desire to be home in time for the match, the Honourable Members decided to cut short the proceedings. Blake's still in the House, though, in conference with his press secretary and political advisors."  
  
"Did anything interesting happen during Prime Minister's question time?" Jenna asked.  
  
"No. The usual vituperation by the Leader of the Opposition." Avon took a sip from his glass. "Travis's rants against Blake have now become so irrational that they're beginning to embarrass even his own side. I wouldn't be surprised if they decide to ditch him before the election."

"And not a moment too soon," Cally said.  
  
Jenna didn't agree: "It'll be better for us if they let him stay - with Travis as leader they're unelectable."  
  
"Who will they choose to succeed him?" Cally asked.  
  
"The Shadow Chancellor, I suppose," Jenna said.  
  
"Jarriere?" Cally frowned. "He's hasn't been much of a success, has he?"  
  
"He hasn't," Avon said. "He knows absolutely nothing about finances. That makes him rather easy to defeat at Questions. But his childlike innocence may endear him to the voters."  
  
Jenna knew that Avon was considered the most able Chancellor of the Exchequer of the century. His genius in financial matters, together with a favourable economic climate, were in part responsible for the success of Blake's government, which was now nearing the end of its third consecutive term.

"But I doubt it'll be Jarriere," Avon continued. "My money's on the Velvet Viper."  
  
"Servalan?" Vila exclaimed. "But that's impossible!"  
  
"Why?" Cally asked.  
  
"Well, if they win the election she'd have to become Prime Minister!" Vila shook his head. "That will never do - she's much too pretty for the job."  
  
"A singularly impressive reason," Avon observed.  
  
"You think so? Oh." Vila's face fell as the sarcasm sank in.  
  
"Avon," Cally said. "Why do you think Servalan will make a bid for the Leadership?"  
  
"Because she's been keeping herself conspicuously in the background lately."  
  
"That isn't like her," Jenna said.  
  
"Exactly. I think she's biding her time, leaving the dirty work of getting rid of Travis to Jarriere. Then she'll jump in to beat Jarriere to the post in the leadership contest."  
  
"She might succeed." Jenna disliked Servalan profoundly, but was prepared to acknowledge her capabilities. And Avon had the irritating habit of being right about such matters - most of the time.

"Travis won't take kindly to being ousted," Avon said. "He might become an opposition within the Opposition, which could work to our advantage."

"I suppose..." Cally began, falling silent at the opening of the door.  
  
Following her gaze, Jenna for a moment had the impression of a giant flamingo storming in. Then the apparition came to a halt and she recognised it. "Hello, Dayna."  
  
"Hi, Aunt Jenna." Dayna unwrapped herself from the layers of pink feathers, discarding the boas on an empty chair. She wore a bright pink, knee-length dress that left one shoulder bare. A necklace of pink, blue and yellow stones set off her dark skin perfectly. Matching earrings hung from her ears while her hair, too short for modelling, had been sprayed with glitter gel.

The girl made a bouncing pirouette. "How do I look?"  
  
"Stunning." Jenna tried to ignore the stab of jealousy. Dayna's youth was an all too unwelcome reminder of her own advancing years. She'd be fifty next year, not a fact she was looking forward to.

Vila stepped forward to make an ostentatious bow to Dayna. "It will be my pleasure, princess, to escort you to the ball."  
  
"Dinner, silly!" Dayna giggled. "I bet you can't even dance."  
  
"Of course I can dance. I dance very well. You know what the late Princess Grace of Monaco once said to me? 'Vila', she said. 'Vila, you dance like a gazelle.'"  
  
"More like a peacock on heat, probably," Avon murmured.  
  
Vila cast him a hurt look. "Just because YOU can't dance - "  
  
Cally rose, interrupting him. "I'd better go and get changed. Vila, see if Jenna wants another drink. Dayna, you get on to Tarrant's friends and try to find out where he is. I want him back here in time. Use the phone in the study."  
  
"All right." Dayna swept up her boas and left the room with bouncing steps.  
  
"I thought the house was uncommonly quiet," Avon observed. "I take it the boy walked out in a tantrum again?"  
  
On her way to the door, Cally stopped. "He was a bit miffed about missing the match."  
  
"I see. How thoughtless of Gan to have chosen this particular date to die."  
  
Cally gave Avon the look of fond exasperation she seemed to reserve especially for him. He responded by raising a mocking eyebrow. Not for the first time it made Jenna wonder whether they'd found some way of silent communication.  
  
"He'll come," Cally said. "It's just that when he's with his friends, he tends to forget the time." She turned and left the room.

"It will be interesting," Avon said, "to see whether the Royal Air Force will manage to instil some discipline in that boy."  
  
"Yes." Jenna rose, not keen on having to make conversation with just Avon and Vila. She would be seeing enough of them during the dinner. "I'd better see if Blake's home yet." The Prime Minister's residence was just next door, at Number 10.

"No need." Vila cocked his head to one side. "By the sound of it, he's on his way."

"Then go and open the door for him, Vila," Avon said.  
  
Now Jenna heard the footsteps too - unmistakably Blake's. The next moment she heard his booming voice greeting Vila, then his form filled the doorway and he came in. The room suddenly seemed smaller.

"Avon. Jenna. I have good news. You remember I gave a DNA sample for the case?"  
  
Jenna suddenly felt the room spin round her. "What case?  
  
"The libel suit I was to bring against World News. You remember, Jenna, their allegations that I wasn't Soolin's father."  
  
She found it hard to believe her ears. "But we agreed not to prosecute!"  
  
"I know. But Bercol and Rontane convinced me that we should, and that I should give a cheek swab for a DNA test. After all, this is one case that we can prove."  
  
But we can't! Jenna felt a lump of ice form in her chest.  
  
She'd known that cursed day would come back to haunt her! That day, seventeen years ago, when they were still in opposition, and throwing a lot of parties to woo support among those establishment heavies looking with distrust upon Blake's reform zeal. She couldn't remember what that particular event had been in aid of, only that its guest of honour had been a pompous, boring captain of industry who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Halfway through the party, Blake had left, claiming some urgent business had cropped up, leaving Jenna and Avon to hold the fort.

No chauffeur driven cars for Her Majesty's Shadow Cabinet. Avon had offered to drive her home. He'd been alone as Cally was down with the flu. Jenna had felt less antagonised by Avon than usual. Having had the captain's whining, clinging wife thrown at him after Blake's departure, he'd suffered as much as she had. They'd spent the journey home comparing notes and shredding their guests in unusual companionship. It had seemed natural to invite him in for a nightcap.  
  
Blake had still been up, entertaining his friends. It was clear they'd not heard her arrive. Their intoxicated voices came from the sitting room, accompanied by the merry chinking of glasses.  
  
About to open the door, Jenna had been arrested by Blake's voice, loud and clearly audible: "I couldn't have stood another minute of that woman!"

Another voice: "Looked like her husband had designs on your wife."  
  
Blake again, careless and casual: "Oh, Jenna can handle that kind of thing."  
  
Something had snapped in her. Laying a finger on her mouth, she'd taken Avon's hand and led him to the bedroom. Face inscrutable, he'd followed her in.  
  
It had been a deed of spite. Simple, sordid spite. Jenna thought she might have found it easier to forgive herself if she could have brought up the excuse of passion, feelings beyond her control. But she'd known what she was doing, cold  
and clear and deliberate. She'd wanted to get her own back on Blake because he'd left her in the hands of a lecherous old bore while he had fun with his chums.

As to Avon's reasons, she could only guess. Maybe he'd just wanted to see whether he could get away with it. For all his caution Kerr Avon had a reckless streak. After the deed he'd calmly dressed and left. They'd never said a word about it, then or ever after.

Two weeks later Jenna had missed her period. A test had confirmed her pregnancy.  
  
The ultimate irony: she'd been trying to conceive for some time -which was why she'd been unprotected that night. As a result, she didn't know whose child she bore.  
  
Soolin's birth had not settled the matter. She resembled neither man, having inherited Jenna's blond hair and good looks. Her faculty for cold reasoning seemed to point to Avon, but the stubborn tenacity with which she pursued her goals was akin to Blake's...

Jenna forced her attention back to the present with an effort. Blake was saying something about the police and an arrest.  
  
"What?"

"Yes, you heard correctly." Blake's eyes were shining in high good humour. "They caught Jack Crimo last night, breaking into the DNA centre."

"Crimo?" Jenna desperately tried to collect her thoughts. "He's an Opposition backbencher, isn't he?"  
  
"Yes," Avon said, his tone cold and amused. She could feel his eyes on her, matching his voice. "He's one of the few supporters that Travis has left."  
  
"He was carrying," Blake went on, "a sample of DNA. He's confessed it was Avon's and that he'd intended to substitute it for mine."

"You mean he was bribed by World News?" Vila asked. "In order to plant that DNA so the test would show that Blake wasn't Soolin's father and they'd be vindicated and win the case?"  
  
"I doubt the World News is behind this," Avon said. "They're used to being sued - they write off the fines as expenditure, reasoning that the publicity makes up for the losses."  
  
Vila frowned. "You mean it's an Opposition scheme?"  
  
"It has all the hallmarks of a Travis plot." Blake gave Avon a hard stare. "But I'd like to know how they got hold of your DNA."  
  
"I let them have it, of course." Avon's face was insufferably smug. "I expected them to try and make a swap, so I thought we'd better make them do it in a way we would be able to control. Therefore I provided the circumstances for them to acquire samples of my DNA."

"How did you do that?" Jenna asked, managing a reasonably steady voice.  
  
"It was quite simple. I took lunch in the House's restaurant when Travis was there. Banking on even Travis knowing that DNA can be found in saliva, I chose a table in his sight and proceeded to clean my teeth with a series of toothpicks. I deposited the used toothpicks on a clean napkin and left. From the doorway I saw Travis fold them into the napkin and pocket them."

Blake laughed. "You devious devil! Travis must have found the opportunity too good to waste."  
  
Avon smiled. "I then warned MI5 that I feared an attempt would be made to break into the laboratory. To ensure their attention, I mentioned some of their recent failures and the possibility of dusting off plans to restructure national security funding. It worked."

"It certainly did!" Blake said.  
  
"After this," Avon went on, "the test results won't matter. Any outcome other than the DNA being yours, Blake, will automatically be considered to be rigged."

Devious devil indeed! Jenna thought, feeling a distinct lack of gratitude.  
  
"There won't be a case," Blake said. "I've just heard from World News. They've offered to settle out of court. They're anxious to prove that they had nothing to do with the sabotage."  
  
Jenna found herself able to think again. "If they weren't involved, how did they know about it so soon?"  
  
Blake shrugged. "Apparently one of the paparazzi from World News saw Crimo's arrest."  
  
Jenna whistled. "Some coincidence!"  
  
"Not really," Avon said. "It wasn't difficult to guess who Travis would find prepared to do the dirty work, so I got Vila to tip off World News that it might be worth their while keeping an eye on Crimo."

Vila nodded vigorously: "I hinted they'd catch him visiting a brothel." He cast Avon a spiteful look. "That's what you led me to believe!"

Blake gave another roar of laughter. "But instead they got a Member of Parliament being arrested for breaking and entering and obstructing the cause of justice."  
  
Jenna began to feel light-headed. "Well, they can't have everything."  
  
"Blake," Avon said, "you'd better have your DNA sample destroyed."  
  
Blake shook his head. "It might come in handy again."  
  
"They can always take a new swab if the need arises. Keeping one is inadvisable. Someone might get hold of it to use against you. It would be stupid to take the risk."  
  
Blake gnawed his finger.  
  
Jenna held her breath. Taking advice was never Blake's strong suit. On the other hand, Avon was the one whose suggestions he'd be most likely prepared to follow.  
  
Blake took his finger from his mouth. "You're right, we must not put temptation in Travis's path again."  
  
"Better do it now," Avon said. "You can use the phone in my room. Show him the way, Vila."  
  
Blake should have been able to find the phone by himself, Jenna reflected while the two men exited the room. Left alone with Avon, she gave him a hard stare. "Was that merely a contingency measure or do you know something I don't?"

"I imagine I'm as much in the dark as you." He gave her a cold smile. "I can count, of course. And I've seen you look at Soolin, and at me and Blake. For someone with the right data to read them, your thoughts can be all too clearly shown on your face." He picked up her glass. "The matter can be settled." He  
took the glass to the drinks cabinet. "If you wish, I can arrange for an anonymous test."  
  
"No!" Jenna was shocked at her own vehemence.  
  
Bottle in hand, Avon turned, raising his eyebrows. "Better no answer than the wrong one?"  
  
That was it, damn him! She'd rather live in doubt than know for sure that her child wasn't Blake's.  
  
His mocking smile indicated he had no illusions about which answer would be the wrong one.  
  
She mimicked his smile. "Do you want the answer, Avon?"  
  
"Not particularly." He started filling her glass. "Whatever the outcome, Soolin is Blake's responsibility, just as Tarrant and Dayna are mine. Her parentage is irrelevant."  
  
"One can always rely on you for cold logic."  
  
"Yes." He put down the bottle. Suddenly he seemed deadly earnest. "I do not want to hurt Cally, Jenna."  
  
"Nor I Blake!"  
  
He came over and handed her the glass. "Then we agree that some things are better not mentioned?"  
  
She accepted the glass. "Don't you mean: 'are better forgotten'?"  
  
"Well now... Some things are just too good to forget."  
  
Angrily, Jenna tried to ignore the surge of warmth rising in her.  
  
Avon sat down again. "It's time you start seeing your daughter in her own right, Jenna. Soolin is pretty, quick-witted, self-sufficient..."  
  
"She's also headstrong, impervious to reason and intent on ruining Blake's career!"  
  
Avon suddenly looked interested. "How does she think to manage that?"  
  
"She insists on joining her friends for the Hunt."  
  
"Not the wisest of moves, considering the party's stand on hunting."  
  
Jenna nodded. "Unfortunately, hunting combines her two passions - shooting and horse-riding."  
  
"Then maybe we should try to separate them."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He leaned forward. "Let's face it, Soolin isn't university material. So why not get her a job at a stables? I know a racehorse trainer in Yorkshire who owes me a few favours. He'd be prepared to take her on. And there's bound to be a sharpshooters club in the vicinity. Aiming at lumps of clay may lack the thrill of shooting at live targets, but the competition element may make up for that."  
  
Jenna tried to view the proposal with an open mind. "It may work."  
  
"At least until after the elections."  
  
The more Jenna thought about it, the more appealing the proposal became. "Even if she decides to join a few Hunts out there, there won't be any paparazzi around to snap her in action."  
  
Avon nodded. "Right, I'll set the wheels in motion."  
  
Jenna found herself relaxing. "It will be good to have some peace and quiet..."  
  
She stopped as the door flew open. Dayna danced in, fizzy drink in one hand and a bar of chocolate in the other. "Tarrant's on his way."  
  
"Good," Avon said. "Personally, I'd be happy to do without him, but we can't risk headlines like: CHANCELLOR'S SON FAVOURS FOOTBALL MATCH OVER HONOURING PARTY'S MARTYR."

While he spoke, his wife and Vila entered, the latter gallantly holding the door open for Cally.  
  
She was dressed in a long white gown with a glittering blue band running down the front and transparent sleeves. She'd done her hair up, but some curls were already escaping, Jenna noticed. Cally had never managed the art of hairdressing.  
  
"Dayna," Cally said, "you will ruin your appetite."  
  
"No chance of that," the girl commented, chewing. "In those posh restaurants you wait for ages to be served, don't you?"  
  
"And don't speak with your mouth full."  
  
Dayna chewed some more and swallowed. She fell into a chair. "I wonder whether they have fish and chips?"  
  
"Yes," Vila said. "But they've got a different name for it."  
  
"And because of that they charge you tenfold," Avon added.  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
Dayna jumped up. "I'll go."  
  
"No," Avon said. "Vila can answer the door."  
  
"That's why you keep me around, isn't it?" Vila muttered, moving to the door. "To act as your slave."  
  
Avon smiled at him. "Exactly."  
  
They waited in silence, listening to the indistinct sounds from the corridor, until the door opened and Vila let Soolin into the room.  
  
The grey dress gave her an air of cool aloofness, Jenna saw with satisfaction. It was a good thing Soolin seemed to have no sense of style. The only aspect of personal appearance she was interested in was her hair. She could spend hours dressing it into all kinds of intricate styles, but this time she'd left it  
hanging loose. Jenna heaved a silent sigh of relief; pleasant though those long straight golden tresses were, they were no match for her own lush curls.

"Is father here?" Soolin asked, waving a newspaper. "He should see this."  
  
"He's on the telephone," Jenna said.  
  
"What have you got there?" Cally asked.  
  
"The Evening Glory." Soolin held up the paper. "They've done a feature on Gan's death."  
  
"I suppose even The Glory couldn't ignore the anniversary," Cally remarked.  
  
"There's more to it," Soolin said. "They've been digging around for a new twist on the story."  
  
"The Glory doing investigative journalism?" Jenna felt bewildered. "That's not their style."  
  
"Quite," Avon said. "The only facts their readers are interested in are the cup sizes of the girls on page three."  
  
"Well, they've got a scoop this time."  
  
"What scoop?" Blake asked from the doorway.  
  
"They wouldn't know the meaning of the word," Jenna said.  
  
"Nah," Vila drawled. "They'd think it's got something to do with ice-cream."  
  
"Why don't you read it to us, Soolin?" Cally said.  
  
Soolin complied. "'Today it's exactly twenty years ago that OlagGan was killed by a car-bomb while starting his car in the House's underground car-park. Gan, one of the famous Blake's Seven...'"

"Blake's Seven?" Dayna exclaimed. "I've never heard of that."  
  
Cally smiled at her. "It was the name dreamed up by The Glory for our group, the Party rebels."  
  
"It didn't stick," Jenna said.  
  
"Not after we stopped being rebels," Vila added.  
  
"But..." Addressing Cally, Dayna started to count on her fingers: "You two, Blake, Jenna, uncle Vila, Gan... Who's the seventh?"  
  
"There wasn't any seventh," Blake told her, smiling.  
  
"They miscounted," Cally said.  
  
Vila grinned. "When challenged, The Glory said that Blake's drive, vigour and stamina made him count for two."  
  
Avon nodded. "A neat way to cover up their gaffe."  
  
"Go on, Soolin," Blake said.  
  
"'Although no-one has ever claimed responsibility, the attack was attributed to the IRA.'"  
  
"Not surprising," Avon murmured. "Considering their track record."  
  
"'But now The Evening Glory has managed to unearth facts that put the attack in a different light. On the day of the attack, part of the car park had been closed off for maintenance work. For that reason the junior Opposition members couldn't park their cars in their allocated bays, but had to use the visitor's  
section. Gan's car was parked in the corner bay.'"  
  
Blake nodded. "The police surmised that the terrorists planted their bomb in the first car they saw."  
  
"The first car, for someone coming from the House," Avon pointed out. "Actually, for someone entering from the road, it would have been the last car of that row."  
  
"The police established the terrorists couldn't have entered from the road," Jenna said. "They would have been spotted by the duty officer as well as the security camera."  
  
"Let's hear the rest of it," Cally suggested.  
  
"'Gan's car was a red mini,'" Soolin read on. "A popular brand amongst the Opposition members at that time because of its environmentally friendly reputation. Blake also drove a mini, albeit his was white."

Vila picked up his empty glass. "Tell us something new," he mumbled, heading for the drinks cabinet.  
  
"'A fact the police seem to have overlooked is that the car park was lit by neon lamps. Those lamps give out a reddish light that plays havoc with our perception of colour. Orange will be seen as yellow and red as white. So to the bomber, Gan's car would have looked white - like Blake's."  
  
"What?" Blake bellowed.  
  
Vila looked up from filling his glass: "Do they mean that bomb was meant for Blake?"  
  
"They do," Soolin said. "Listen. 'Because Gan had no personal enemies, the police took the view that his car must have been chosen at random. But we all know that Blake does have a personal enemy. Someone who bears him a long running grudge."  
  
"Travis!" Blake hissed.  
  
Jenna could almost see his brain shifting into gear as he started to think over the possibilities.  
  
"Are they seriously suggesting," Cally asked, "that it was Travis who planted that bomb, thinking the car was Blake's?"  
  
"Actually," Soolin said, "they're at pains to point out that 'there is no evidence to suggest so foul a deed from our esteemed Leader of the Opposition'. But then they go on to mention the car crash resulting in Travis's dismissal from the Army, and his blaming Dad for it."

Jenna moved over to Blake and laid a hand on his arm. She knew how the memory of that accident still hurt.  
  
It had happened five years before Gan's death, when Blake had been working for an engineering firm in Kent. He'd been driving his brother and sister, who'd been down from their Midlands home for a visit, back to the station when his car had been hit by Travis's motorbike. Blake escaped with concussion but his brother and sister were killed. Travis was seriously injured, losing an arm and an eye. According to the police Travis had caused the accident, having been five times over the legal alcohol limit - reason for the Army to dismiss him for unprofessional conduct. Travis was prosecuted for drunk driving but a sympathetic judge ruled that he'd been punished enough by being crippled and kicked out of the Army, and had given him a suspended sentence and a hefty fine.  
  
Jenna had not met Blake at that time, but she knew that it had been his outrage over the lenient sentence that had caused him to take up politics, in order to bring changes to the judiciary system. Travis had never been able to recognise his own responsibility for the accident and its consequences, blaming it all on Blake. He'd joined the Opposition and steadily worked his way up, until their third election defeat in a row had cleared the way for him to become Party Leader.  
  
Dayna joined Soolin and took a look at the paper. "They also mention the fact that before his dismissal Travis was a member of the Army's bomb disposal squad."  
  
"Yes," Soolin said. "The inference is clear."  
  
"Someone who knows how to defuse bombs," Vila reasoned, "must also be able to build them."  
  
"If Vila can grasp that," Avon said, "we can assume that the readers of The Glory will manage to figure that much out as well."  
  
Jenna looked at Blake. "Can it be possible?"  
  
"From any other opponent, I'd say no. But a madman like Travis?" He looked uneasy. "Who knows?"  
  
"You don't want it to be true," Cally observed.  
  
Because it would mean that Gan died because of him. Jenna cursed herself - she should have seen that coming! Blake would start to blame himself for Gan's death.  
  
"But Travis is a Member of Parliament!" Vila said. "Surely an MP can't be a murderer?"  
  
"The plain man's view," Avon murmured. He seemed oddly satisfied about the paper's revelations - and not at all surprised.  
  
A cold suspicion rose in Jenna. "Avon, you wouldn't by any chance have been whispering into that journalist's ear?"  
  
"It wasn't me," Vila out in quickly.  
  
Avon raised his eyebrows. "Why should increasing The Glory's readership be any concern of mine?"  
  
"Answer the question, Avon," Blake said, sounding grim.  
  
Avon shrugged. "It seemed a good idea to put another nail into Travis's coffin. His ranting against Blake may begin to irritate his colleagues but we can't be certain it will have the same effect on the voters. The British public loves an underdog - and with his eye patch and artificial arm Travis more than qualifies as one."

"Avon." Cally's voice was ominously soft. "Do you mean to say you've known all along about the possibility of Gan's car having been mistaken for Blake's?"  
  
Jenna saw him waver. A simple denial would let him off the hook. Predictably, in the end he couldn't resist the opportunity to show off.  
  
"Of course I did. It was plain from the beginning."  
  
"Then why," Blake growled, "didn't you tell the police?"  
  
"Or us!" Vila sounded indignant.  
  
Avon produced a sneer. "You had the same information that I had. You should have been able to work it out for yourselves." He eyed Vila. "Most of you, anyway."  
  
Blake took a step towards Avon. "You've been holding back vital evidence from the police!"  
  
"Don't exaggerate, Blake. It wasn't evidence, just a simple fact. Gathering facts is their job. One expects the police to do their job properly."  
  
"I wonder why they missed it," Cally said. Jenna noticed she was manoeuvring herself between Blake and Avon. The latter, still seated, gave a slight smile at her protectiveness.  
  
The scene of devastation was still vividly present in Jenna's mind: the wrecked car with its gruesome load, bathed in light. "Because they brought in their own lighting."  
  
"Of course!" Blake snapped his fingers. "That place was so dimly lit that the first thing the emergency services did was bring in some floodlights."  
  
"With normal lamps," Avon added.  
  
"Which would show up the correct colouring of the cars."

"Yes, Vila, we know we can rely on you to state the obvious."  
  
Vila gave Avon a resentful glare. "I only want to help."  
  
"What will happen now?" Soolin asked, folding up the paper. "Will they reopen the case?"  
  
Blake held out his hand for the paper. "They'll certainly have to look into the matter of those lights."  
  
Jenna frowned, trying to bring back details she'd been happy to forget. "They retrieved parts of the bomb, didn't they?"  
  
"Yes," Cally said. "I remember them saying that it wasn't the usual IRA device."  
  
"Army stuff, wasn't it?" Vila asked. "They thought it must have been stolen."  
  
"So," Soolin said, "that bomb is the key."  
  
Cally nodded. "It seems to be the only lead they have."  
  
"If they can trace those parts back to Travis," Dayna said, placing her empty can on the table, "he's in trouble."  
  
"An understatement," Avon observed dryly.  
  
Jenna had a sudden flash of inspiration. "But there's another possibility, isn't there, Avon? Travis isn't the only explosives expert around. You know something about it too. Cally told me you like to help Dayna with her gadgets. You could have built that bomb."

The silence that followed her words was almost tangible.

Avon rose, a haughty smile on his face. "If I had wanted to kill Blake, I would have made sure to plant the bomb in the right car."  
  
"But you didn't want to kill Blake! Gan was your target!" Jenna ignored the exclamations of protest from Blake and Cally. "He was expendable, remember. That's what you said after the event." The callous words were etched in her mind. "'He's done more for his Party dying in the way he did, than he ever could have done if he'd lived.'"

"And that's a fact." Avon folded his arms. His face was cold but Jenna couldn't determine the glimmer in his eyes. It almost looked like perverse amusement.

"Setting aside emotion and tedious morals, Gan could not have chosen a better moment for his demise." He turned to Dayna and Soolin. "We were in the middle of the Party Leadership Election. The attack caused a surge of sympathy for Blake. It shocked the members into voting en masse for him. I doubt he'd have stood a  
chance of becoming Party Leader otherwise."  
  
He began to move to the door. "I'm going to change for the dinner."  
  
Head held high, he left the room.  
  
Jenna found Cally's calm gaze on her. "You're mistaken, Jenna. Avon had no hand in Gan's death."  
  
"We don't even know Travis had," Blake said.  
  
"Yeah," Vila agreed. "You can never believe what the papers say, can you?"  
  
"Best leave the case to the police." Blake turned to Cally. "Time I got changed. See you at the dinner."  
  
"Come on, Soolin," Jenna said. "See you later, Cally, Dayna."  
  
"Wait a minute, Soolin!" Dayna jumped up. "I've got something for you."  
  
"See you in a minute, mother," Soolin said, following Dayna into the corridor.  
  
Jenna hurried to catch up with Blake, already half way to their own apartments. "The green jacket."  
  
He groaned. "You know I hate those wide sleeves."  
  
"That jacket has brought you three election victories."  
  
"No reason why I should have to wear it at every occasion!"  
  
But he sounded resigned, Jenna noted with satisfaction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olag Gan's commemorative dinner turns out to be extremely eventful.

Dinner was in full swing. Probably because of the football match, the restaurant was only half full. It was a small establishment, very select. As the place of their last meal together before Gan's death, it had been the obvious choice for the memorial dinner, although since then both the restaurant's exclusivity and prices had gone up. It had twenty tables on the ground floor and  
two galleries upstairs for special occasions. Those galleries, one at each side, gave a clear view into the dining room below.  
  
They were the only occupants of the East gallery. The West gallery was empty, to provide them optimum privacy. They were seated at a large table made by placing two smaller ones together. Jenna and Cally with their spouses sat with their backs to the balustrade, to prevent photos being taken of the Prime Minister and Chancellor at dinner. They knew from experience that the fact that the dinner was a private affair would not deter the paparazzi. Now all a photographer would be able to catch were their backs, Blake's in the green jacket and Avon's in a wide silver-coloured tunic over his standard black sweater. Dayna and Soolin sat with Vila and Tarrant at the opposite side of the table, with their backs against the wall.  
  
At Jenna's left hand, Blake was deep in conversation with Avon. To her growing irritation they were talking election tactics the whole time. Cally, on Avon's other side, was eagerly participating in their exchange. Jenna usually liked the strategies and planning, but today she had no stomach for them. Perhaps is was the memory of Gan's mutilated corpse - she'd been one of the first on the scene and their earlier discussion had brought the gruesome images back to her with a vengeance.  
  
The sight of Tarrant making gallant conversation with Soolin did nothing to lighten her mood. Soolin, usually gratifyingly level headed about boys, seemed ready to fall for his charms. The sooner Avon could arrange her departure to the North, the better.  
  
Tarrant was dressed flamboyantly in a pink shirt and purple pirate-style jacket. A rather peculiar interpretation of 'suitably dressed', Jenna thought, remembering Cally's words. But with the example of fashion sense demonstrated by his adoptive father and uncle, she supposed one couldn't really blame the boy.

Dayna was tucking into her Plie Douvrais avec Pomme Frites with gusto. She didn't seem at all concerned about her figure, Jenna observed with envy. Vila was unusually jolly - she'd have expected him to sulk because of the lack of alcohol. Or had he done a deal with the waiter to serve him wine from a grape juice bottle? She wouldn't put it past him!

The evening wore on. A waiter removed their empty plates. They selected sweets from the trolley while Avon and Dayna ordered ice cream. Jenna settled for fruit salad, as did Cally. With disapproval Jenna saw Blake select his favourite chocolate gateau with whipped cream. Soolin chose lemon cheesecake, Tarrant strawberry sponge and Vila a double portion of trifle. Dayna asked for a large slice of apple pie to go with her ice cream.  
  
It struck Jenna that they'd not yet devoted one thought to the person in whose memory the dinner was supposed to be held. "We should toast Gan."  
  
"With fruit juice?" Vila asked.  
  
Jenna caught Avon giving him a meaningful smile. "I'm sure you'll manage, Vila."  
  
So Avon had caught on too. And he was going to let Vila get away with it. But then, Avon would appreciate the joke. Sometimes those two were just like a pair of naughty boys, she reflected, if they thought they could get away with a scheme behind Blake's back.  
  
"Oh, all right." Vila took his bottle and began to refill his glass.  
  
Avon shoved his empty glass Vila's way. "Pour me one, Vila. I haven't tasted grape juice for a long time."  
  
With a sudden surge of impishness Jenna put her glass next to Avon's. "I'd like to try it too."  
  
Vila looked slightly panicked but seemed unable to come up with a plausible reason for refusal. His hand shook lightly while he filled their glasses. "Quite good stuff, this."  
  
"Perhaps I should taste it too," Blake said, face bland. Jenna wondered whether he was teasing Vila, or did he seriously think he would be getting what the label said?  
  
Vila quickly emptied the bottle into his own glass. The liquid came right to the brim then spilled over. "Oops! Sorry, Blake. Too late. I can't let you drink from my glass - you might catch my germs."  
  
"I might indeed." Blake was still poker faced. "All right, I'll have to make do with iced water then."  
  
As he refilled his glass from the jug, the ice creams arrived. Dame Blanche for Dayna and a combination of Peche Melba, Poire Belle Helene and Banana Split for Avon.  
  
They raised their glasses.  
  
"To Gan," Blake said.  
  
"Gan," Jenna mumbled in chorus with the others.  
  
"Blake!" a voice shouted from behind her back.  
  
Glass still raised, she turned along with the others. On the opposite gallery a figure in a black cape had appeared. With his right hand he removed the black hat covering his face.  
  
Jenna took in the eye patch and twisted face.  
  
"Travis!" she heard Vila whisper.  
  
"Just like him to ruin the dessert," Avon remarked.  
  
"Ignore him," Blake said, lowering his glass while turning back to his dessert.  
  
"At last," Travis shouted. "I've been waiting for this moment."  
  
Blake speared a lump of chocolate gateau on his fork and brought it to his mouth. "This is good."  
  
Taking his lead, Jenna tried a spoonful of her fruit salad. She didn't really taste what she was chewing.  
  
Travis was still clamouring for attention.  
  
"The security team will deal with him," Cally said.  
  
Avon looked up from his ice cream, frowning. "They should have done so by now."  
  
"Should have stopped him at the door," Vila said through a mouthful of trifle.  
  
"He's got a gun!" Tarrant exclaimed.  
  
The two couples turned again. Jenna saw Travis holding a weapon. She frowned - something was not right...  
  
"It's in his wrong hand," Cally said.  
  
Of course! Travis was holding the gun with his artificial hand.  
  
"Doesn't seem to affect his aim," Soolin observed.  
  
"What the hell is keeping security?" Avon breathed.  
  
"Don't think I won't be able to pull the trigger, Blake," Travis warned. "This is a special prosthetic, with inbuilt sensors connected to my muscles. I move my muscles and the sensors move the hand. Ingenious, isn't it? I can lay the fingers round the trigger and pull. I'll shoot you with my artificial hand, Blake!" He gave a hollow laugh. "Fitting, don't you think?"  
  
Jenna was aware that Vila was no longer there. Must have slid under the table. They should all seek cover. But Jenna found herself unable to move. So, apparently, did the others. They were still sitting, Dayna tense, Cally poised, Soolin relaxed. Tarrant looked angry, Avon worried, Blake defiant.  
  
"Don't be an idiot, Travis!" Avon called.  
  
"Keep out of this, Avon, and I'll let you live." Travis aimed his gun. It caught the beam from a spotlight, giving the metal an evil shine. "It's Blake I want!"  
  
Slowly and deliberately, Blake stood up, folding his arms.  
  
Travis's face twisted into a mad grin. "Don't rely on your bodyguards, Blake! They're busy elsewhere! My friends created a diversion. Oh, and I've jammed the entrance to the gallery." As if on cue hammering started from somewhere downstairs. "It'll take them more time to break open the door than I need to kill you."  
  
For Jenna it was as if time had stopped. We should run, she thought, but knew she wouldn't. From the corner of her eye she saw Tarrant pick up the pepper grinder.  
  
"Your time's up, Blake!" Travis yelled.  
  
"No, it isn't!" Tarrant threw the pepper.  
  
Travis stepped aside. Not fast enough. The grinder struck his artificial arm. Travis cursed as the gun dropped from his mechanical fingers. With an extraordinarily quick reflex action he caught it in his good hand.  
  
"Right, you asked for it!" Travis leaned over the balustrade, gun in his outstretched hand.  
  
"Down!" Avon shouted.  
  
A shot rang out.  
  
Feeling detached, as in a dream, Jenna took in the scene. Cally ducked, pulling Tarrant down with her. Avon was tackling Blake. In a blur she saw them land in a heap on the floor. Blake swore. Dayna was on her knees, peeping over the balustrade, eyes shining with excitement. Soolin was still on her feet. Something metallic glinted in her hand. It spewed out a flash of light.  
  
The flash hit Travis in the chest. His mouth fell open. For a moment he stood still, then his body began to topple forward very slowly.  
  
Just like in a film, Jenna thought, as she watched, transfixed. The body gathered momentum as it doubled almost elegantly over the balustrade. For a moment it seemed the railing would stop it, but he'd been leaning too far forward. Head first, he went over, the folds of his cape spreading out like long, black wings.  
  
A crash. Then silence.  
  
Jenna cautiously looked down.  
  
The diners downstairs must have done the sensible thing; the room was empty but for Travis. He'd landed between two tables, shattering a chair in his fall. He lay on his right side, his head twisted in an unnatural angle. His eye patch had shifted onto his forehead, revealing an ugly mass of scar tissue in which not even the remnant of an eye could be seen.  
  
A shadow appeared at her side. "You'd expect them to have sturdier chairs in a place like this," Vila said inanely.  
  
"Jenna," Cally called.  
  
She turned to see Cally and Avon bent over Blake. He was sitting with his back to the wall.  
  
Her heart missed a beat; the right shoulder of his jacket was covered in blood.  
  
"I thought he'd missed!" She kneeled at her husband's side.  
  
"How's Travis?" Blake asked. He was still in control, she saw to her relief.  
  
"He won't be fighting another election," Jenna told him.  
  
"Blake will," Avon said, voice not very firm. "It needs more than a bullet through the shoulder to make him shut up!"

* * * * *

"This is ridiculous!" His right arm in a sling, Blake was sitting upright in a hospital bed that seemed too small for him. The sight of his naked chest and the white bandage on his shoulder caused a surge of tenderness in Jenna.  
  
"I'm perfectly fit to go home!" Blake growled.  
  
"The doctors think it best to keep you under observation for the night," Jenna said. Seeing him bristle, she tried to think of a more acceptable argument. "Besides, the hospital entrance is swarming with the Press. You wouldn't be able to get past them."  
  
A nurse wheeled in a trolley with a television set on it. "You're on the news, Prime Minister!"  
  
Blake glared at her, then sighed. "All right, let's see the worst."  
  
Jenna sat down on the side of his bed. The nurse plugged in the set, then left. The screen came to life, revealing Avon, resplendent in his silver tunic, surrounded by journalists. Jenna wondered where he was. A storeroom in the restaurant? It was much too small for the crowd of journalists.  
  
"...a toy, invented by my daughter Dayna," he was saying smoothly. "It emits a small electrical charge, which can be registered by a sensor board. Thus one can practise sharpshooting without having to use live ammunition. Dayna had given it to Soolin for testing."  
  
A journalist was shouting a question that Jenna didn't catch.  
  
"No, no, the toy didn't kill Travis," Avon said. "It can only produce a mild stun. I assume it caused Travis to lose his balance - he was leaning over the balustrade to get a good aim at Blake. We must wait for the post mortem, of course, but no doubt that will confirm it was the fall that killed him."  
  
A barrage of questions, all equally indistinct and, Jenna presumed, ignored by Avon.  
  
"Soolin's action saved her father's life," he declared. "Travis had already fired one shot at Blake. If Soolin hadn't stopped him, her father would not have come out of this with just a bullet wound to his shoulder."  
  
Someone shouted something about Travis's motive.  
  
Avon gave a disdainful smile. "This assassination attempt makes it quite clear that he was mad. One may ask why his party members failed to spot his condition. Clearly their screening methods..."  
  
His voice was cut off. The picture changed to a newsreader in a studio. "We'll get back to the Chancellor's statement later."  
  
"They'll have to find a member of the Opposition first," Blake said, "to give a reaction to Avon's statement."  
  
Jenna nodded. It was fair, she supposed, but could be tiresome.  
  
"This is BBC News 24, in an extra broadcast, bringing you live coverage of today's extraordinary event: an attack by the Leader of the Opposition on the life of the Prime Minister." Even the suave newsreader seemed gripped by the sensational news. "Later we'll join our political correspondent John Carnell for an analysis. But first we go over to Tom Darvid at the hospital. Tom, can you tell us more about the Prime Minister's condition?"  
  
A fresh faced, white suited man, standing under an umbrella on the steps of the hospital, spoke into the camera. "Yes, Max, we are told that the Prime Minister was treated for a bullet wound in the shoulder. His condition is not serious and he is now resting comfortably..."  
  
Blake snorted.  
  
"He will be kept here overnight as a safety precaution but it is stressed that his wound is not serious. I understand that the surgeon who treated him will be giving a press conference later this evening..."  
  
Jenna rose and strolled to the small, high window. It was an uncanny feeling that cameras were recording this building right now. The window gave out onto a dark courtyard. A single light bulb, far beneath her, caught the drizzle. No cameras here.  
  
"We'll come back to you later, Tom," the newscaster was saying. "Now, before we go over to our political correspondent..."  
  
Jenna turned on hearing the door open. Vila shuffled in, one hand behind his back. "Blake! Smile!"  
  
For a moment she thought Vila was going to produce a bunch of flowers.  
  
But it was a camera. There was a blinding flash, and Vila was gone.  
  
Jenna stormed to the door, but knew she wouldn't catch him.  
  
Blake, half out of his bed, was one-handedly struggling with the blankets. Jenna hurried over to him. "It's too late, Blake." She began to drape the blankets over his legs again.  
  
"An exclusive," Blake said through clenched teeth. "I should have seen it coming."  
  
Jenna felt like strangling Vila. "He'll sell that photo to the highest bidder."  
  
Blake leaned back in his pillows, suddenly looking exhausted."He'll regret this!"  
  
But Jenna knew that Vila would contrive to stay out of Blake's reach long enough for the storm to blow over.  
  
She cast her attention back to the television, only to be confronted with Vila's face filling the screen.  
  
He was giving a highly coloured version of the event, with - predictably - himself in the starring role: "...So in fact I saved Blake's life. Well, it was Avon who shoved him out of the way, but I told him to. If I hadn't..."  
  
His hand came into view at the bottom of the screen, making a throat-cutting gesture.  
  
The picture cut back to the newsreader. "So it looks like the Chancellor once more saved the Prime Minister's life. The first time, as the viewers will remember, was ten years ago, during a visit to Wales..."  
  
Jenna remembered all too well. A local poacher, bearing a grudge against the authorities for repeatedly catching him, had emptied his shotgun at Blake. Avon had caught a pellet in his arm as he pushed Blake to safety. Although it was just a flesh wound, it had bled profusely. By chance he'd been wearing a cream coloured jacket that day, the perfect backdrop for the blood. "JUST A SCRATCH," the papers had quoted in screaming headlines, accompanied by colour pictures of Avon clutching his arm, a look of heroic suffering on his face.  
  
Feeling nauseated, Jenna reached over and switched off the set. "I can't take any more of this."  
  
"You'll have to face it," Blake said. "If he hadn't pushed me out of the line of Travis's fire..."  
  
"Are you sure," she interrupted him, "that he wasn't trying to shove you into his line of fire?"  
  
"In that case," a sharp voice said, "Blake would not be sitting here talking to you."  
  
She looked up. Avon was standing in the open doorway.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.  
  
Avon entered the room, eyes on Blake. "Checking there won't be a vacancy for his job in the immediate future."  
  
Blake gave a tired grin. "You'll have to bide your time."  
  
An expression she couldn't fathom slid over Avon's face. "Actually, the flat at Number 11 is much more comfortable." Quite suddenly, his gaze flared at Blake. "What the hell possessed you to keep standing there, inviting him to shoot you!?"  
  
"I refuse to bend to threats."  
  
"You believe in making it easy for an assassin?"  
  
"You make an excellent bodyguard."  
  
Thunder clouded Avon's features. "One day, Blake, you'll push your luck too far!"  
  
Jenna had been following her own line of thought. "You wouldn't have set this up by any chance, Avon? Hoping that The Glory's accusations would enrage Travis into a murder attempt?"  
  
He met her gaze. As usual, his was unreadable. "Well now, that would have been an interesting experiment."  
  
Never expect a straight answer from a politician! But she wasn't going to let him get away with it! "Do you really expect us to believe it was a coincidence that Dayna gave Soolin that gadget today of all days?"  
  
He frowned in anger. "Dayna shouldn't have given it to her! I expressly told her not to show it around until we got it patented."  
  
That at least sounded sincere, Jenna mused.  
  
She found Avon's gaze upon her. "Blake is the figurehead of the Party, Jenna. With him gone, the Party might well lose its attraction for the voters." He produced a very menacing smile. "There will come a time when this will no longer be the case. Then you should start watching his back!"  
  
With that he sailed out.  
  
Conflicting thoughts racing through her head, Jenna went to the door and closed it behind him.  
  
"You need to learn to trust him, Jenna," Blake said.  
  
She turned to him. "Or perhaps you need to trust him less."  
  
"Avon will never harm me."  
  
Blake's confidence was galling! "Even if, by some miracle, he refrains from stabbing you in the back, he can find other ways to damage you. He's a crook, Blake! One day we may find him gone - along with a large chunk of the Treasury!"

Seeing she had his attention, Jenna decided to push home her point: "Did you know that, if he hadn't resigned from his merchant bank when he did, he would have been sacked for gross irregularities? That's an euphemism for fraud, isn't it?"  
  
Blake had gone very still. "You're not supposed to know that."  
  
"So it is true." She hadn't been sure how much credit to give to the drunken whisper in her ear.  
  
"It's top secret." Blake looked more alarmed than he had been at Travis's assassination attempt. "Who told you?"  
  
"One of the board members from the bank who I met at a party, some time ago."  
  
Blake frowned. "Why didn't you tell me at once?"  
  
She shrugged. "I didn't know whether to believe it. The man was pretty drunk and at the time I thought he might have been exaggerating in a desire to impress me." She studied her husband's face as the truth dawned. "There's more, isn't there?"  
  
He clenched his jaws in a my-lips-are-sealed gesture. "I can't discuss this with you, Jenna."  
  
She gritted her teeth. They'd been married for nearly twenty years. Sometimes it felt like they'd been living on different planets for most of that time.  
  
"Forget about secrecy!" she exploded. "I'm your wife. I have a right to your trust!" More calmly she continued: "When have I ever let you down? Is there even one indiscretion you can accuse me of?"  
  
"No." Blake gave a rueful smile. "All right, I won't throw the Official Secrets Act at you." He took a deep breath. "The fact is, that if the managers of Avon's bank hadn't been so anxious to avoid a scandal, he'd have faced a very long jail sentence."  
  
Jenna whistled. "Talk about skeletons in the cupboard! No wonder he keeps so busy distracting the Press."  
  
"The narrow escape must have jolted him," Blake went on. "Made him decide to use his talents to find an honest way to get rich."  
  
"Or to get so rich that no-one can touch him. Such as going straight for the Treasury!"  
  
Giving no sign that he'd heard her, Blake continued: "I think that by now becoming rich has lost its appeal. Avon isn't a big spender. He has a huge salary and can look forward to an index-linked pension - enough to give him security. I think that's what he really craves, Jenna - security. His father's disappearance left him and his mother in very dire straits. An unsettling thing  
for a boy of eight. He earned a full grant for university, but there was never any money. His mother couldn't cope, she began to retreat into her own world."  
  
"I know." The woman had been certified to an institution, where she'd died when her umpteenth suicide attempt succeeded. It was one of those stories the press kept raking up.  
  
Blake smiled bleakly. "I suspect that's what prompted him to take in Vila. That Avon saw himself in him, both let down by their parents..." He suddenly grimaced.  
  
Immediately the rest of the world ceased to exist for Jenna. "What's the matter?"  
  
"I think the painkiller is wearing off."  
  
She reached for the button. "I'll call the nurse."  
  
The nurse came, carrying a hypodermic syringe. Time for his next shot, she announced cheerfully. Jenna averted her eyes, not keen on seeing the needle being pushed into Blake's flesh.  
  
When the nurse had gone, Blake sank back into the pillows. Jenna saw his face relax.  
  
"You try and get some sleep, Blake. I'd better go home to see how Soolin's doing."  
  
"Cally will be looking after her."  
  
"Yes, but she's got Dayna and Tarrant as well." Neither of them, Jenna reflected, had seemed very upset. And Soolin probably wouldn't lose any sleep over the event either.  
  
She began to rummage through the plastic bag holding Blake's bloodied clothes. "The shoes are all right. I'll leave them here, and bring fresh clothes in the morning."  
  
"At least I've seen the last of that jacket," Blake said, wry humour shining in his tired eyes. "One thing to thank Travis for."  
  
Jenna smiled to herself. She would take it to a tailor and have it copied. Better still, she'd have two made, and keep one in reserve.  
  
Blake patted his bandaged arm. "This should be enough to win us the next election."  
  
Jenna bent over him for a parting kiss. She was beginning to feel flippant - surely a delayed shock reaction.  
  
"If not, I'm sure Avon will manage to find some more skeletons in the cupboard."


End file.
